


Mishmash

by Two_Fooles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_Fooles/pseuds/Two_Fooles
Summary: A series of one shots based on the inktober prompts.Mostly an exercise to get me back into writing.Constructive criticism would be very much appreciated!I promise, I'm much better at writing stories than summaries.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester





	Mishmash

**Author's Note:**

> This is set very early in Castiel's time with the Winchesters.  
> Based on the Prompt 'Fish'.

Bobby Singer’s home is filled with many things. The weary creak of old wood settling on its foundations, the sound of the four clocks in the home -each ticking a little out of time with the others, piles of books and parchment, trinkets and mementos and keepsakes of an unusual man and his unusual life, the constant hum of protective magics and the steady heartbeats of the three men asleep upstairs. Castiel stood in the darkened kitchen and catalogued as much of it as he could, waiting for a more convenient time to bring the news he had to the Winchesters and their surrogate father.  
After last time, Castiel was not going to wake Dean up before he was ready.

Castiel looked at the dishes drying in the sink, the empty beer bottles in the trash and the ever-present pile of papers in front of Bobby’s seat at the kitchen table. He looked at the clock on the wall, it said it was a little before 4am. Castiel sighed and moved into the lounge room.

Castiel had walked the Earth before, but not like this. Never in such close proximity with people and their odd behaviours. He’d never gotten to see the foibles and rituals and minutiae that made up the spaces in-between of a human life. He didn’t understand them. He was sure that he never would, but he was increasingly gripped by the desire to understand anyway. Increasingly gripped by many confusing impulses.

The lounge chairs were worn but neat, once overstuffed, they were now settled and comfortable. Soft and eroded by use. More books could be found on the low tables in the room, some ancient, some new. In the armchair, pushed down the side, there was a single paperback. Castiel knew it was there. He knew no one else but Bobby knew it was there. Secretly, Bobby liked to read romance novels. Castiel didn’t understand the shame the gruff man felt at reading the stories. Granted, he also didn’t understand the drive to do it either, just another sign of how little he and his kind knew their charges.

Bobby’s whole home reverberated with the memories he had attached to these things. Unseen to humans. It was like small ripples emanating from the things around him, some weaker than others. In this room the strongest ripples spread from the mantle. Castiel made his way over to it, curious. There were photographs in dusty frames, and long-dead flowers in a vase. There were small trinkets, some of which stood stark against their dusty counterparts – these items Bobby must have regularly handled. Castiel wondered how touch helped humans remember.

He had his own mechanism for retrieving memories through touch, but these memories didn’t have to be his own. If he had been able to think like a human, he may have understood that for him to use them here, on these things, might feel like an intrusion to their owners. But he didn’t think like that. Not yet.

And the sailfish above the expansive fireplace sent waves of memory into the room. It was a more intense memory than the others, and different somehow – brighter. The fish had a beautiful blue fan, spotted and elegant, the colours still vibrant despite the layer of dust. The midline of the fish was a beautiful bronze, giving way to a sleek silver, each colour only emphasising the incredible blue of the top of the fish. Its mouth hung open, long spine pointed upwards.

Castiel looked at it, studied it for the longest time, seeing the texture of the tail, giving way to that of the body, and picking out the tiny teeth that travelled up the spike. He raised his hands and gently placed them on the fish, allowing the memory to wash over him.

_The salt spray that blows onto the beach is the first thing that Cas experiences. Fresh and heady, followed by the sounds of the waves lapping against the soft white sands. It is a beautiful day. Castiel knows that memories are not always accurate, so that this day seems especially idyllic is not surprising. Humans seem to err on the side of optimism in their memories._

_A small boy sits a short way up the beach. He is about eight, slight and hunched over. He is concentrating on building a sandcastle. He is meticulous in smoothing the sand into his pail, tamping it down with his small hands. His hair is long, shoulder length, and his tongue worries at the side of his mouth. His focus is absolute, and that’s why the other boy on the beach has to shout repeatedly to get his attention._

_“SAM!”_

_The smaller boy is almost finished filling the pail to his exacting specifications._

_“SAM!”_

_He firmly grips the pail and flips it over, slamming it hard, but assuredly into the ground._

_“SAM-AN-THA!”_

_He lifts the pail up, making sure to check the edges haven’t crumbled._

_“SAAAAMMMMAAAAANNNTHHHAAAAAAA!”_

_Finally, the older boy is close enough for Sam to hear him. Dean is twelve, thin and pale. His chest is bare and his skinny shoulders are showing signs of burning. He has been in the ocean. He looks exhilarated. He beams down at his brother as Sam peers up at him, scowling._

_“Bobby told you not to call me that.”_

_“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d answered the first three times!”_

_Sam looks less put out, but in no way placated, and waits for Dean to continue._

_“Bobby said it’s time to head back for dinner.”_

__  
  
The boat is large and silver; the water beneath is dark blue, and so deep. Sam sits in the bow, reading a book, seemingly bored with everything around him. Dean stands beside Bobby, practically thrumming with excitement. 

_“…If we catch a sail fish can we get it mounted? It’d look so cool at your place. Do you think Lee Marvin has a sailfish, Bobby? I bet he does, and I bet it’s ginormous. How cool would that be? To have a sailfish – that we caught – just like LEE MARVIN!”_

_Dean continues to prattle on beside Bobby. The older man just smiles down at him and nods along. Dean is burnt, the sun and his youth are making his freckles more conspicuous. His green eyes are wide and bright._

_He smiles for the entire afternoon, it seems. His enthusiasm isn’t dimmed by the lack of success. Finally, Bobby’s line goes screaming out to sea, and Dean looks beside himself, his shouts of joy enough to bring Sam away from his books, both boys beside Bobby when he finally lands the giant fish._

_The rest of the memories are far more disjointed, tiny snippets of the boys sharing ice-cream, and playing on the beach. Sam and Dean griping about having to reapply suntan lotion (Sam), or eat their vegetables (Dean). Bobby roaring with laughter when Dean trips over ogling girls on the beach. Just simple, stolen moments of a normal family holiday. Memories of a father and his sons._

Castiel returned to the room, no longer sorting through Bobby’s memories. He heard a sound behind him and turned slowly, sensing no danger. The room is brighter now, time passing well while Castiel visited summer memories.

Dean leaned in the doorway, soft and rumpled. Having obviously just woken up, he cradled a steaming coffee cup in his hands. Something in Castiel wants to hold onto this moment, to deem significant, but Castiel has no logical reason why it should be so. He pushed that notion down.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hiya, Cas.”

Dean’s voice was heavier than normal, slightly lisping on the final ‘s’ sound because he’s tired. He moves forward, liquid and lazy, and stands beside Castiel, looking up at the sail fish.

“Bobby caught that thing one summer. He took us down to Florida for a week. It was the only real holiday me and Sammy ever went on.”

Dean’s face was spread in a smile, but there is something in the tone of his voice that hints that the way he feels about this memory are more conflicted than that. His eyes, deep and green are soft, but a little sad. He goes quiet for a long time, still and steady.

“Bobby has been a wonderful father to you all these years. I know that he is not your biological father, but he has loved you as a son, and I think he has done it well. I have no frame of reference, though. My own father… well…”

Dean just shifted uncomfortably, but he doesn’t leave. He remained, shoulder to shoulder with Castiel. Castiel, for his part wonders where those words, and that sentiment, came from. He furrowed his brow for a second before he cleared his throat. He had a purpose coming here.

“Are you well rested, Dean? I am afraid I have news…”


End file.
